Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
But no one is going to pay attention to my opinion. They have their orders. I step up to the door, pleased when one of Francisco’s men holds it open for me. I could get used to this.
Inside, it’s significantly less bright, and I have to blink a few times before my eyes adjust. Frankie is there, standing right beside the staircase, looking at me like he’s seen a roach. His scowl is deeply personal, and I’m taken aback.
Is he waiting for me? Does he have a certain agenda? Or did I catch him in the act of going back upstairs to his suite?
“Hello,” I say, trying to be cheerful.
He shakes his head, not even bothering to address me. I look around for my bodyguards, but they’ve abandoned me now that I’m inside the house. The driver moves past me, his arms full of luggage. He mounts the steps without a word.
I can hear Carmine’s army in the kitchen and the living room. It didn’t take them long to find the television or the fridge. I feel incredibly awkward standing opposite Francisco’s son. I don’t know what to do or to say to make things right.
“Do you hate me?” I ask, opting for the direct path.
“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I’m disgusted. How could you marry a man as old as my father?”
I swallow my guilt. I’m too worried about Brandon, and too flustered from my sexual encounter in the limo to fight back. I knew Frankie was attracted to me. He made that clear the first day we met. How can I explain that I was looking for someone more mature? That the age difference between me and Francisco doesn’t bother me, and that I really like him as a human being?
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I begin. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he scoffs. “I just think you’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Your father is a kind man,” I tell him.
He laughs brutally, crossing his arms over his chest. “That only proves that you don’t know him at all.”
“He cares about you,” I snap. “And he cares about me. I understand he may do some things we don’t like, but that doesn’t change who he is.”
“Wrong,” Frankie declares. “But what do you know? You’re just a gold-digger.”
I feel tears well up in my eyes, and I’m too shocked to respond. Is that what he really thinks of me? That I would promise my life to someone based solely on money? I may not be the most respectable person in the world, but I have my pride.
“I hope we can be civil,” I say.
“Yeah, right,” he rejects my olive branch, turning around to head up the stairs.
“Frankie!” I call after him.
“What?” he demands, stopping halfway up the stairs to wait for me.
I take a few steps up so that we’re on level ground. This is my house too now, and I hope we can respect each other. “What would you have done in my place?”
He shakes his head, not following.
“I do care about your father,” I explain. “But he’s also helping me find my brother. And he introduced me to a family I didn’t know I had.”
“All those things benefit him as well,” Frankie informs me.
“I know,” I insist. “I’m just trying to explain that I had no choice.”
“You had a choice,” he replies.
“So what would you have done?” I ask him again.
“I wouldn’t stop at anything to get my brother back,” he says.
“Me neither,” I agree.
I see the calculations going on in his mind. He doesn’t want to give up his anger, but he’s realizing that maybe things aren’t as cut and dry as he thought. Reluctantly, he shrugs. I feel like I’m getting through to him. This is an important moment because together, we form the core of Francisco’s home life. If the two of us can’t get along, it will make for a very stressful living situation.
“I’m sorry I called you disgusting,” Frankie relents.
“And a gold-digger,” I remind him.
“The jury’s still out on that one,” he says.
I open my mouth to object, but then he smiles, letting me know he’s just kidding. Relief washes over me. I like Frankie, and I want to count him as a friend. I know I’m technically his stepmother now, but it doesn’t feel that way. We’re closer in age than I am to his father, which means he can be a significant ally. He also seems to be the only person in the house who isn’t employed by Francisco. That counts for something.
“Do you want any help unpacking?” he asks.
“Sure,” I agree. “Have you ever been to Italy?”
“Not as often as my dad goes,” Frankie says, following me up the stairs. “But I’ve been a few times.”
We wander up the stairs in tandem, talking about less controversial things. By the time we reached the top, it seemed like everything is going to be okay between us.